Okay so let’s just start with the elephant in the room. Remember that time I said Botox and vaginas do NOT go together? Well, apparently I was wrong. I heard Robin telling Howard Stern about it and of course, knowing Howard, I thought it was a joke. Except that they weren’t laughing. So I googled it and guess what? Botox is sometimes used to treat vaginal pain – aka vaginismus – experienced during sex. I stand corrected. And now you’ve learned something new, so, you’re welcome.
While we’re on the Google train, I also found this BBC article. There’s a political action group, called Amish Pac, whose intention is to get Amish voters to vote for Trump. AMISH voters. Typically, the Amish don’t vote, but they can. Like I said in a previous post, they don’t watch television or use internet, so think about that for a moment. Go ahead, I’ll wait. What exactly DO they know about Donald Trump? I cry foul. If this was football, there’d definitely be a flag on that play. Hmmm…. interference?
Meanwhile, back in my personal life, Opac is rapidly approaching a milestone birthday. I heard that stupid Phil Collins’ You’ll Be In My Heart – that I have always connected to my baby boy since the night we watched the animated Tarzan, his big brown eyes mesmerized by the screen. And the tears started falling and I couldn’t stop them. In all my life, I never knew how important motherhood would be to me, until this creature came into it. I had never loved anyone or anything so powerfully, so completely, never been so afraid of losing. It still takes my breath away.
Veruca, who is eleven years old, was recently propositioned by an 8th grade boy on the school bus who asked her if she wanted to see his penis. Except that he didn’t say “penis,” and because I’m a lady I’m not repeating the word. He also asked her if she knew what a boner was, which of course she didn’t because how could she? And because she admitted she didn’t know, he proceeded to explain it with hand gestures. I marched right in to school the next day and asked to speak to the principal. As of today, it’s been addressed with the perpetrator; however, I don’t believe the impact was sharp enough. More on that later. Maybe.
Thanks to more unforeseen staff shortages, I put in 19 hours at the restaurant over two days, including a double. We catered a party in-house for 85 people – twenty-five of whom were children who all but swung from the rafters during the event. These children embraced what Todd calls the Montessori Method with every ounce of their spoon-bending, chair-breaking hearts. But hey – that’s what checkbooks are for, right?
I ran out into a darkened courtyard around midnight Saturday, and collided with a patio chair so hard I was sure I’d severed my leg right off above the knee. Seriously, the thought that I’d done something significant to myself flashed through my mind, until I realized that I could still walk. I waited for the rush of blood not unlike the wound I got on my head 5 years ago from a similar, could-have-been-avoided-were-I-not-a-total-clutz, accident. But it never came. Today I’m sporting a beautiful grapefruit-sized, avocado-colored bruise on my right knee. It doesn’t particularly like the pressure of fabric against it, or – walking, for that matter.
So there goes my running habit for a couple days. Yes, I returned to it last week and I was feeling pretty good until the second mile when my knees started that dull stabby creaking/watery thing again. It’s hard to not think about my grandmother, who had arthritis and a double-knee replacement, and wonder if I’m headed the same way. I’ve already got signs of arthritis in my hands, and one increasingly crooked hateful pinky finger.
I swear middle-age is like one long insult after another. The body betrays you in ways you never thought about. It absolutely sucks that it takes a full 15 minutes out of bed before you can walk upright and without some sharp stabbing pain somewhere. Pain is not supposed to be a way of life. Not now.
I had a filling replaced last week that popped out with some stolen Skittles, and it took me nearly 4 days to recover from it. The dentist asked me if I wanted to be numb before he started, so I asked him if he’s doing any drilling. He said yes so I said, then the answer is yes. Lucky me got two for the price of one – I was also due for a cleaning so Dr. Pain gave me the Novocaine before that and then afterward fixed the filling. I don’t recommend this. It took effect so fast I was soon slurring my words and couldn’t rinse without spurting water out the side of my mouth like a fountain, which was so enormously funny to me that I started laughing and then all the water shot out. By the time I got to the main event I was worried the Novocaine might wear off before he finished the filling. Which I swear to God it did, even though I still couldn’t have talked my way through a DUI checkpoint at that point.
I have to go back, since the filling is too damn high and I’m hitting it when I eat and it hurts. Dammit. And then I woke up this morning from a dream about a tooth falling completely out, and all of my bonding falling off the other teeth along with it. I woke up with the intense anxiety I was feeling in the dream, and had to make sure everything was still intact.
There’s more, but I’ll save for the next post.
**Disclaimer: I don’t use the upgraded service; therefore, you will see ads at the bottom of my posts (ads I don’t see because I’m not you). As it has come to my attention that certain ads may not align with my world views – I am compelled to add the following statement until further notice.
I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT SUPPORT DONALD TRUMP. NOT YESTERDAY, NOT TODAY, NOT – EVER.